"To holy Solitude I flew, / And bade the Muse her sympathy prepare! / There closeted with Thought, / The brain its shapeless travail wrought!"

Metaphor in Context

Soon as the breath of Rumour blew
This solemn theme into the general ear,To holy Solitude I flew,
And bade the Muse her sympathy prepare!
There closeted with Thought,
The brain its shapeless travail wrought!
The season to the subject solemnly did suit:
Day's dazzling orb was wholly down:
Pale Cynthia sat upon her silver throne;
Th' obtrusions of the light were clos'd
It seem'd, as Silence self repos'd,
For with the Air, the Earth and all her sons were mute:
All but the wretched, who, like me,
The gentle vigils kept of sympathy.
With cordial awe I liailed the shading night,
And kiss'd her dusky-robe which muffled thus the night.